These Boots Were Made For Dancing

So, I'm flipping through a fall clothing catalog when my heart stops and my jaw drops. Could it be? The boots of my teen years are back in style? Jiminy Cricket, I can't believe it. Those glorious black boots are back. Wonders never cease. I loved those boots. They topped off our high school dance/pom pon squad uniforms for three years (1979-1981). If I could find my yearbook, I'd show you. They were the perfect touch for that cowl neck sweater, short red skirt, black vest ensemble. Knee high black boots with an elasticized top and high heels. They were made out of crinkly calf hugging vinyl designed to give your legs that tight sexy look. Of course, it only worked if you had any meat on your calves, which I didn't, so the whole affect was kind of lost on my stick thin legs. Nonetheless, I still felt gooood in those boots. I'd love to wear those boots today, but they're a little "young" for me now. I hate that. Really, I do. In fact, the whole "I'm too old to wear that anymore" thing is starting to tick me off.

I dashed into a couple of shoe stores this morning while I waited for Mama J. to finish up her wash and set at the Beauty Box. I saw six pair of shoes that stole my heart, and none of them were made for the ahem, mature woman. I wanted to take them home anyway. That cute little pair of patchwork Keds would be great with jeans. And the lace Sketchers with the shiny silver trim. Surely, they would work with yoga pants. The polka dot flats with the bow, darling dahling. They'd go great with leggings..if I were young enough to wear leggings. I tried them each on, touched them longingly...and finally put them back. All of them. Poop! Who made up the rule that you have to quit wearing fun clothes when you turn a certain age. I don't want to look goofy, but come on! Clothing for the 40-plus crowd is so....boring. Isn't there something between Hot Topic goth and Sears stretchy pants for my age group that has a little zing? A little sass? A little 'tude?

I have to be careful. The urge to step over the "Too Young For Me" line sometimes gets the better of me. Apparently, I have made that mistake a few times. About five years ago, someone anonymously mailed to me an article from Reader's Digest about women who try to dress too young. I got it at work. No return address. No signature. Just a snarky little jab at my clothing choices. I was shocked...and hurt. No one, including my family, had ever said anything to me about what I wore. After about an hour of ripping mental scabs off my insecurities and trying to guess which Bee-ach sent it (you know it was a woman), I bucked up and decided I didn't care what someone else thought. I was comfortable with me. I shredded the letter. I have never forgotten it, though, and I'm a little paranoid about dressing too young. So, I didn't come home with the sassy red flats or the shiny Sketchers. But I wanted to. Just like I want those boots. Before the month is over, I may order those boots anyway. 'Cause I'm feeling a little bold, a little reckless and not at all 43 years old. I'm not done dancing, thank you, even if some folks my age have hung up their boots and pom pons.